Five Times Poe Dameron Landed in Bespin
by Ember Nickel
Summary: Plus one time he didn't. Or, literal ship teasing, with spacecraft banter!


Star Wars Rare Pairs treat for celeste9. I combined a lot of prompts here (five things, repeated run-ins, and banter!) Hopefully it does justice to the idea that they might get together down the line, or maybe they just prefer the flirting and the thrill of the chase.

* * *

He'd flown on solar winds and highly processed pterosaur entrails, on the charged electrical signals of fission plants and the crude clanking helipad maneuvers of boxes scarcely more elegant than the old AT-AT walkers. And always, always flown on fumes, when any idea of standard time was receding into hyperspace, and he had to will himself forward ignoring the stubborn protests of his biological clock.

But never had Poe Dameron tried to charge a ship on tibanna gas, and despite his outward confidence, he wasn't _actually_ sure that the Republic's new-model navigator craft would accept them. His fellow trainees had goaded him on, though, and he wasn't going to back down from their challenge until he had no choice but to spin-dive into a crash. It was much easier to dock at the gas giant and see if the proprietors had any of its fabled goods to sell.

Reality didn't live up to the fables. Or maybe it did, and the force of gravity beyond the clouds was just not a scale factor he'd accounted for.

"That's _it_?" Poe blurted.

"Well, you don't want any more than that, do you?" challenged the vendor. Calrissian, that was his name—"skip the General," he had brooded. "It'll explode your tank, the way it expands in some of the denser atmospheres."

"No," Poe said, "I mean, the way they go on about it in the Hosnian system—"

"Oh," Calrissian laughed. "So they're talking about our trade exports on the Hosnian system, are they?"

Poe winced. For all he'd seen and lived through—and there was already plenty—he felt a sudden pang of awareness at just how much more familiarity with the galaxy the accidental-general had. "They talk about a _lot_ of things there."

"I'll bet they do," Calrissian nodded. "Well, if you need to pack more in that tank of yours, check with Ingni Ulu of Hoj port in Trillier system; the Ulu clan are great at making these kinds of modifications on the fly."

"'Modifications.' Sure. We've all read about your historic exploits, I doubt you'd direct me to any of your top dozen suggestions for giving me more storage space."

Calrissian laughed. "You seem like a respectable cadet, I'm supposed to stay on the Republic's good side at this point in time. If that changes, you can find the qualified professionals yourself."

Poe shook his head. "Thanks for the gas."

* * *

"And the prowler-type has retractable landing gear that can rapidly decelerate when making in-atmosphere evasions, of course."

Had he ever sounded that young and hopelessly convinced he knew what he was talking about? "You're thinking of the rodent-class," Poe explained. "The prowler-type are only advantageous in hyperspace runs. But they've shaved ten, maybe fifteen percent off their end-to-end time since the Imperial edition."

Ryfee looked insulted. "You're not seriously saying that the Republic has built on Imperial editions?"

"Mostly just scrap metal. But I mean, on a galactic timescale, the Empire was really just a blink in an eye. Ship improvements—now that's the grand arrow of time."

Before the recruit could sputter a reply, Calrissian walked past. "Dameron?" he laughed. "They've got you doing transport work now?"

"I'm able to find my own way to the academy, thank you very much," Ryfee declared.

"New policy," Poe explained. "Recruits on their way to the academy are asked to travel jointly to save on expenses, or to travel with enlisted personnel— _especially_ would-be fighter pilots. One too many kids who think they know everything the first day show up and the hangar bay can't handle all the fireworks."

Calrissian laughed. "I don't suppose your squadron would know anything about that."

"That's classified."

"Wait!" Ryfee asked, "which squadron are you?"

"You'll find out on the way. I'm supposed to start briefing you on theoreticals. Not that you don't already know everything, of course, but just for the review."

"Of course," said Calrissian. "Make us proud."

"What," Poe said. "Cloud City doesn't have enough to be proud of already?"

"Never hurts to add insurance."

"Ugh," said Ryfee. "There's that business acumen I guess I'm never going to need."

"Is this normal?" Poe asked. "Your proteges flunk out of the private sector life and go into the military?"

"It's true, most of them can't keep up with me even at my age," Calrissian shrugged. "I guess Ryfee's just motivated by whatever insignia is in these days."

"Ah, almost forgot," Poe snapped his fingers. "Budget cuts, we're getting rid of those. Guess you'll have to settle for the downloaded holotome of fighter schematics."

"That's all I need," Ryfee shrugged. "Not all of us need a fancy title, right, _General_?"

Poe hid a laugh.

* * *

Poe paced the docking bay, annoyed at the holdup. He wasn't sure he could ever handle the delays and workarounds that seemed like they'd need to come with the territory of a life of crime. Oh, sure, impromptu races against the authorities would be pretty fun, but all the terrible detours would get to be a real buzzkill. It was bad enough having to wait for "legitimate municipal dignitaries" and their "worthwhile business ventures." Gag him.

Finally, Calrissian ambled in, looking in no hurry at all. "Hello," Poe said curtly. "Special delivery here from Trillier system."

Calrissian flinched. Good, let him. "Ingni sent this?"

"Yep. Well, technically no, she said I could drop it off at any competent and punctual merchant this side of Tatooine. So I should probably be going, really."

He ignored the jibe. "Why didn't she come herself?"

"Because only a qualified republic pilot could be trusted with such exquisite solar hoverdrones," said Poe. Calrissian raised an eyebrow. "That or a blockade to deter pirates in the system."

"All the places they could have blockaded, and they chose _Trillier_? This has to be reprisals...well, never mind that."

"In your experience, does Hoj harbor enemies of the republic?" Poe asked. It had seemed a decent enough place as cities went, with the thorniest issue most of the locals' pride in their own dialect and slightly annoying refusal to communicate in the intergalactic trade language. The Ulu clan had been eager to trade with him once he mentioned that he'd come via Bespin, but only Ingni's niece was really willing to translate for him, and she didn't seem like the person who would have earned the Senate's disapproval except by submitting one too many annoying petitions about interplanetary translation standards mediated by organics.

"There are enemies," said Calrissian, "and there are _enemies_."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Want to take these drones off my hands before they decide _I'm_ an enemy?"

"They're drones, I hardly think they're in a position to make their own decision."

"Let's hope it stays that way."

"I'll tell them you're a friend."

"I'm flattered."

* * *

"You didn't have to come," said Calrissian.

"Well," said Poe, shifting his weight awkwardly, "I wouldn't exactly entrust this to a hoverdrone."

"What's the point of having a surplus if we can't _do_ anything with them? Defeats the purpose, really."

In spite of himself, Poe laughed, and all the emotions he had locked away during the silent outbound flight broke free.

"You look terrible," Calrissian said. "Do you need food? Anything?"

"No."

He nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Let me know if you change your mind. The academy can't need you back that soon, surely."

"Believe it or not," Poe forced a smile, "I actually have managed to progress beyond the strictly academic portions of my service."

"Well, you look young. Take it as a compliment."

Poe nodded. "Ryfee—his class _was_ really good. They come in sounding like mostly bravado, every year more full of it than the one before. But he actually did know his stuff. That's why they gave him more exercises to try, pushed them faster..."

"I see."

"You don't care."

"Go on."

"Did he have family here? Friends?"

"I don't think he was originally from Bespin." Poe tensed, not looking forward to the prospect of _another_ dismal hyperspace flight, canister of ashes in tow, but Calrissian raised a hand. "But he took to it with more fervor than many locals, all the more so because it was his choice. He wanted to be in a city, and even when it didn't match his expectations, it was still a place to be from."

"If his class was anything like mine—and I'm guessing it was _more_ so—conversation moves on pretty quickly at the academy from 'hi, I'm from Yavin' to 'would you rather race an NDV-9 or 7S-Indomitable in zero-g.'"

Calrissian nodded. "Well?"

"Well what?"

" _Would_ you?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"I know a thing or two about ships myself, what's your opinion?"

"I thought you said you didn't like pulling rank."

"I'm not pulling rank, I'm just a sounding board."

Poe smiled; after the exhausting journey it was a relief just to be able to talk shop. "NDV-9. For sure."

"That's the spirit."

"Is that a 'firsthand experience' approval or just 'good taste' approval?"

"Just holovid sims."

"Good enough for me."

* * *

Poe had thought the stories about spacesickness were just old myths, but that was before he orbited Bespin on the _Cloudliner_ with hundreds of other civilians, many of whom seemed to have never so much as jaunted through hyperspace before. He was glad to emerge onto solid, if rarefied, ground.

The prices in the mining guilds were higher than he remembered, not that they were really a concern. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the guild traders seemed tenser, too. Even the droids were eager to conduct their conversations as quickly as possible and move onto people they could actually serve.

It was upon bidding a curt farewell to an overworked protocol droid that he ran into Calrissian. Poe tried to maintain his composure, but Calrissian looked taken aback to see him there. "They have you on leave again?"

"That's one word for it," Poe said.

"Let me guess. Too classified to talk about."

"Or I've resigned my commission."

"You _what_?" Calrissian blurted, and there was a flicker of something like surprise in his expression. No, not quite surprise—he'd seen too much for that—but something quickly stifled. "Voluntarily?"

Poe hesitated. "Technically, yes."

"Do I get an explanation?"

"I was only going to stay in Bespin a couple of days," said Poe, "and I'm not sure I could simplify it _that_ much."

He'd done nothing wrong. That much, he'd maintain if pressed. But the Republic was no longer the best place for him to accomplish what he needed to do, what the galaxy needed of him. Maybe it hadn't been for a long time. And maybe, Calrissian wasn't going to push the issue. He couldn't tell whether that was a disappointment.

"If you're not going to stay in Bespin," Calrissian asked, "can I upload a recommendation for you? Maybe Hoj needs blockade runners."

Poe snorted. "By the time data reaches the galactic core from here I can be well on my way through hyperspace, and I think the only recommendations they take on Hoj are written in the local script. Preferably cursive. So unless you're good with forgeries..."

"Is that a challenge?"

"I'll steal my own if it comes to that. If I'm getting discharged at least make it for something _really_ terrible."

"Oh, so it's a discharge now, is it?"

"That's not what I meant."

Calrissian raised his eyebrows. "Take care, Dameron."

"Yeah, yeah. And yourself."

"I'm perfectly safe here. Nobody will come to harm in Bespin, it's an exemplar."

"Uh-huh. An exemplar? Of what?"

"Of how collaboration doesn't get people killed. Usually." Calrissian paused. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

* * *

Almost every planet would make a vivid impression with its smell. Not just a function of the climate and the soil, the lingering impressions of rain, but also the mix of elements in the air, allowing different species to coexist while still slightly favoring a few different evolutionary branches. D'Qar was no different; stepping out of an antiseptic spaceship, any astronaut would be immediately confronted by its humidity and then almost as quickly adjust—perhaps even sooner, if they were used to frequent space travel.

So it was for Lando, slowly breathing in the forest planet's air and wondering why he had not kept in the habits of flight.

"You followed me here?" Dameron gawked, once he'd been unceremoniously introduced to the new arrival and both of them had made a point of skipping past the formalities of rank.

"Don't let it go to your head," Lando said, "and no, I did not; General Organa isn't exactly obscure about her hideouts, when she wants to be."

"But if you found us here, that means anyone could—"

"I mean, when she wants to keep people in the loop," Lando said. "I've been ignoring her holomessages for too long."

"Uh-huh. And you came directly?"

"That is, to coin a phrase, one word for it."

"Do we have to worry about anyone following _you_ here?"

"I very much doubt it. Only a few dismal bureaucrats who seemed relieved to see the last of me. As, perhaps, they were to see the last of you."

"Are you trying to compare—wait. What?"

"Ingni was concerned about your repute, or lack thereof. I looked into the public records, and gave a deposition that you were delivering Ryfee's ashes here at the time of the first riot."

"You were trying to clear my name?"

"I was _trying_ to not let the poor beleaguered republic, which has more than enough problems on its hands, get led down the wrong path."

"I didn't know you were capable of high-minded civic service."

"Once a decade, whether I need it or not."

"So now what? I bet General Organa can get you an NDV-9."

"And stay on a high-grav piece of dirt like this?"

"We need all the help we can get," said Dameron.

"You say that. But if I stay, the novelty will wear off."

"Organa's a more serious leader than some of these republic guys. She won't give me as much shore leave, you know."

"Somehow Bespin will just have to carry on without your tourist money stimulating the economy."

"Or maybe you'll come back?"

Even in a war, the kid sounded earnest. Lando couldn't help but admire it. "What I think," he said slowly, "is that I can accomplish more for your rebellion or whatever you call it these days from a distance. But we'll have to stay in contact, somehow. Probably sending highly secure, encrypted communications that any enemy agents will wear themselves out trying to intercept."

Poe broke into a smile. "I'm sure we can find lots of data files you'll appreciate."

"If all else fails," said Lando, "I'll send a hoverdrone."


End file.
